Rebirth and Rebellion
by livingonthemoon
Summary: Twenty-three years after Voldemort's downfall, Albus Potter is sitting in Potions Class. Rose Weasley is in Transfiguration. James Potter is staring at Kali Corner's backside. Everything is normal. Or so it seems.
1. Professor Bright

**AN : This is (technically) the first fic that I'm serious about. I'm planning to write a four-part series about the next generation, although if I'll ever actually get to part four is pretty questionable – I hope I do, but hey, you never know. I already have thirty-five chapters planned for this story, so we'll get through them first. Anyway, these characters and this story have been brewing in my mind for years (literally), and I am incredibly excited to share them with you guys. This first chapter is really more of an introduction to some of the main characters, and is really just light-hearted and silly, but I still hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer : I do not, by any means, own Harry Potter. It is all J.K. Rowling's, and I'm only playing with the wonderful world she created. All this is hers. **

**Chapter 1 : Professor Bright **

Albus Potter stared dully into his bowl of mushy cereal, which was looking less edible by the second. Albus had known for a while that he would never get around to actually eating it, but it was fairly interesting to watch as every little flake of wheat gradually softened until it disintegrated into its milky surroundings. In the back of his mind, Albus found himself wondering why people bothered to douse their cereal in milk at all. Dry cereal seemed much tastier.

"Al, are you listening to a_ word_ I'm saying?"

The use of his nickname stirred Albus from his musings. He glanced up from his bowl to find himself gazing into a pair of irritated-looking sky blue eyes. He knew these eyes well – they belonged to his cousin Rose Weasley, who on some occasions could be his favourite person in the world.

"Of course I am", Al answered sheepishly, trying to rearrange his features into an attentive expression. "Don't worry about our Transfiguration homework, I'll get the rest of my part done tonight, I got the missing notes off Robins."

Rose made an impatient noise half-way between a sob and a sigh. "I wasn't talking about that assignment, you moron. I didn't even mention it."

Al sighed inwardly. He'd never been a morning person, and this was simply too early of an hour to be badgered by Rose, who herself wasn't really an early bird either. Angering her at breakfast-time was as unwise as disturbing Lord Voldemort's sleep.

"Listen, Rosie, whatever it is, don't worry about it," Al mumbled in a feeble attempt to salvage the situation. "It's only the first week back, just take it easy."

All this achieved was to make Rose's expression even more frustrated than before – her lips were narrowed to the point where her mouth was reduced to barely more than a slit in the bottom of her face. Her eyes, too, were narrowed, her left more so than her right.

"I was asking you if you would come help me practice Quidditch after supper – for the tryouts, you know," she snapped, swiftly hopping up off the Gryffindor table. "But never you mind. I'm sure you'll have much more exciting things to do, such as Potions homework, or staring at your food."

And with that, she spun round and sped back through the sunlit Great Hall towards the Ravenclaw table, leaving Al feeling faintly annoyed, his cereal now so moist that it was starting to smell. Rose's irritation didn't worry Al – she was often like this in the morning, but her mood improved greatly after she'd had her ritual cup of coffee. What bothered him more was that Rose was serious about her ambition to join the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She was a great player, but having her on an opposing team would do nothing to improve Gryffindor's chances of winning the Cup this year.

Deciding to put this out of his mind for the moment, Al served himself to a few mouthfuls of eggs and ham before slinging his book bag over his shoulder and making to leave the table. He was impeded, however, by a brutal shove in the ribs which he supposed was intended to be friendly, but was actually quite painful.

"Wait up, Al, I don't want to be the only one to be late," said Sandy Pavey reprovingly, looking up at Al with a playful twinkle in her eye.

Albus sat back down, scowling. Sandy, along with Rose and another Ravenclaw named Troy Fletcher, was his closest friend, but she wasn't afraid to step on other's toes, especially Al's. Al had gotten used to her commanding attitude on the very first day of his first year at Hogwarts– he remembered it clearly. He and Rose had shuffled awkwardly through the Hogwarts Express for nearly fifteen minutes and had only just found and empty compartment when Sandy had come barging in, announcing that she was to sit with them and there was really nothing they could do about it. They had been joined a few minutes later by a much quieter and more polite Troy, who had asked nicely if he could join the other three, and by the time they'd reached Hogwarts, the four had already become inseperable. There was something special, a sort of feeling that united them – they had shared that first fateful train ride to Hogwarts, had shared these first few steps into an unknown, intimidating and yet exciting new world, and that had been enough to create a bond between them, a bond which grew stronger all the time.

Al mulled over these thoughts as Sandy unceremoniously gulped down her cereal. The moment she was finished, she leapt from the table and made for the Entrance Hall at full speed. Al followed her, groaning.

The pair sped across the Entrance Hall and down the spiralling staircase which led to the dungeons, where Potions class was held. Al had never particularly enjoyed Potions, partially because it was a subject which the Gryffindors had to share with the Slytherins, but mostly because it was fairly awkward to have Horace Slughorn as a Professor. He had handpicked Al as a favorite on his very first day at Hogwarts, simply because he was Harry Potter's son. Since then, Professor Slughorn had rambled on about Harry practically every time he and Al were in the same room, and had never stopped giving Al good marks despite the fact that Al was never a very skilled potioneer. However, last year had been Slughorn's last year at Hogwarts – from what Al had heard, he'd decided to retire and had bought himself an expensive villa in the tropics. Al had only seen their new Professor, a young woman named Professor Bright, on a few occasions, but from what he'd seen, he was certain that he would be enjoying Potions much more this year. She was youthful, perhaps only twenty-eight, according to the rumors, and unbelievably attractive – she had very long, very shiny brown hair, generous curves, skin that seemed to glow, and a striking smile.

Al was out of breath when he and Sandy reached the Potions classroom – Sandy was a swift walker, even when she wasn't late for class. He and Sandy edged into the surprisingly brightly lit classroom and took seats at a desk at the very back of the room, staring around in disgusted shock. Professor Bright had apparently decided to completely transform the Potions classroom – a multitude of brightly-coloured bulbs of light floated near the ceiling, casting the dungeon in a brilliant and slightly psychadelic light. There was no trace of anything Potions-related on the wall – everything had probably been stored in the cabinets which took up the back wall of the classroom, and which Professor Bright had painted shocking pink. Instead, the brick walls were covered with paintings of children – infants, five-year olds, ten-year olds, and even one illustrating a rather surly-looking adolescent. The canvasses were all contained in bright yellow frames. The overall effect was overwhelming – it was rather like walking into some kind of overly joyful dream.

"Who on earth _is_ this teacher?" Sandy gasped, staring at a slightly bizarre depiction of a stringy nine year old, who was apparently about to pick his nose. Al was too revolted to speak – and so, it appeared, was most of the class.

"Why hello there, fourth-years," came a soft voice from somewhere behind Al.

Al spun round, along with the rest of the class. Professor Bright was even more stunning up close – her hair moved softly around her shoulders as she glided into the class, the light shining on her dazzlingly white teeth, and her legs seemed to stretch on for miles every step she took. Al watched, slightly dumbfounded, as she walked through the classroom and propped herself down behind her desk. Her smile widened as she addressed her class.

"As you might have noticed, I absolutely adore children," she said in a high, musical sort of voice. "I'm sure we will all become bosom friends as the year unfolds. My first and foremost task is to help you hone and develop your Potion-making skills, but I firmly believe the most important element of Professorship is maintaining a good relationship with your students. This relationship must start somewhere, of course, so I will present myself – Professor Helen Bright. Not so long ago, I was a student here myself, and from my very first Potions class I knew this was what I wanted to dedicate my life to. I hope during the course of the year, my fervent love for Potions will be passed on to you. Now, I would like each of you to present yourselves in turn, in order for me to take attendance. You in the front can start, Mr -?"

"Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy."

Al raised his eyebrows at the blond-haired boy who had sat himself in the very first row, directly in front of Professor Bright's desk. Never in his life had Al witnessed Malfoy sitting willingly at the front of a class.

"Say, Professor Bright, what exactly do you mean by a good student-teacher relationship?" he asked, tilting his head. Al couldn't see his expression from where he was sitting, but he could see it in his mind – a hint of amusement in a contemptuous sneer.

Professor Bright simply smiled, but for some reason, she didn't answer – instead, she moved on to Humphrey Nott, who was sitting behind Scorpius, and who mumbled his name in a very bored voice.

"Now, students, you may open your textbooks to page four hundred and eight," she chanted once she had gone around the class, waving her wand so as to make the number four hundred and eight appear on the blackboard.

There was a scuffling noise as students digged through their bags to find _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and ruffled through its pages. Professor Bright smiled beningly throughout the whole process – she could have been posing for a dress robe commercial.

"Giddying solutions?" Al whispered to Sandy when he reached page four hundred and eight. "Didn't we do these last year?"

Frowning, Sandy scanned the list of ingredients. "I think so," she replied, following the words on the page with her finger. "Yes – I remember, you burned your thumb with that weird Gurdyroot thing – Professor Bright!"

"Yes, Mrs… Paisley?"

"Pavey, Professor – I just realised, we studied this potion last year already."

Professor Bright looked stricken. Her expression, which had been perfectly serene, turned first into a worried frown before becoming an angry grimace. To Al's astonishment, her eyes took on a beady look, as if they were brimming with tears.

"I do not give a dragon's fart what you studied last year, Miss Pavey!" she shrieked, leaping up from her desk and sweeping through the class at lightning speed. "It seemed to me that I was your teacher in this subject, and thus I am the one who gets to set the curriculum. Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Sandy appeared to be too shocked to answer. She stared wordlessly as Professor Bright spun round and walked gracefully back to her desk. When she faced the class again, she was smiling as though nothing happened.

A few minutes later, the class was already full of the multicoloured fumes which were beginning to emanate from the students' potions. A buzz of talk rang through the classroom, but Bright did nothing to silence it – in fact, she stayed sitting at her desk, not doing much of anything.

"What sort of reaction was that?" Sandy muttered furiously, cutting her Gurdyroots into misshapen pieces. "I just wanted to let her know – just being nice, you know – and she effing went imad/i…"

"It's her first week, maybe she's just nervous, " Al argued feebly. He didn't know why, but he felt strangely protective of Professor Bright – he didn't want to hear Sandy criticize her. "She's nice enough now, she's letting us talk!"

But at that exact moment Professor Bright stood up once again. "Quiet down, class," she commanded. "I will take five points from the house of the next person I hear talking."

Sandy looked simply furious. Al pretended to be deeply concetrated on crushing his beetle eyes, avoiding eye contact with Sandy. He prepared the rest of his ingredients with unusual care, and within twenty minutes his potion was brewing happily, producing copious amounts of orange steam. Al had seven minutes to kill before adding the key ingredient, his Gurdyroots, and thus he took to observing the different paintings which lined the walls. It was quite dull – they were painted with rather mediocre skill, so that the children they depicted were all fairly grotesque. Al wondered whether Professor Bright had painted these herself. He hoped not.

After a few dull minutes, Al took to observing something else, or rather someone – an auburn-haired Slytherin girl named Dawn Selwyn. Over his last three years at Hogwarts, Al had discovered that this endeavour almost always proved to be amusing – never in his life had he met someone so wrapped up in her own little world as Dawn Selwyn. She seemed completely oblivious to the world around her, and, worse, was completely oblivious to whatever she was doing. Al had become something of a fan of her antics, although he'd never actually addressed more than two words to her. He enjoyed watching as she tried to concoct her potion while simultaneously reading a brick-sized book, which she had leaned precariously against her cauldron so as to prevent Professor Bright from noticing it. She plopped ingredients in random order into her cauldron, which began to emit an alarming amount of jet-black smoke –

BANG. Dawn's cauldron exploded in a flash of violet flames, putting fire to her desk and to her book.

"_Aguamenti_! _Aguamenti_!" Dawn shrieked, waving her wand around clumsily, almost poking herself in the eye. A strong jet of water shot out of her wand, putting out the flames at once – her desk was blackened but intact, but nothing remained of her book except a few burnt pages and a pile of ashes.

The whole classroom burst into laughter, all except Professor Bright, who seemed to cackle with fury.

"Seldon!" she screeched, sweeping across the classroom and slamming her fists on Dawn's desk. Her face was contorted in unreasonable rage – Al had never seen a teacher react this way to a student's blunder.

"Selwyn," Dawn corrected her in a small voice. Her eyes were brimming with tears – Al stopped laughing.

"Fine, Selwyn! I will not tolerate this incompetence in my classroom! How can any human being capable of thought be thick enough to add the Gurdyroots before the spider's legs? I'm incensed! Thirty points from Slytherin, and you have detention tonight at seven! My office!"

A stunned silence filled the classroom. Sandy looked as though she was restraining herself from running to Professor Bright and hitting her. A lone tear slid down Selwyn's cheek as she nodded silently and made to gather the pieces of her cauldron, which had fallen on the floor around her desk. Sandy rushed to help her, but –

"Back to your desk, Miss Pavey! I will tolerate no more insubordination from you today!"

An astonished look on her face, Sandy returned to her desk without even bothering to respond. Al was certain she would burst in anger the moment they left the classroom, but for now she seemed to have decided that arguing was not worth her time.

The last forty minutes of class passed without incident. Professor Bright cheerfully bade goodbye to her students at the end of the period, grinning as though the hour had gone perfectly. Al left the stuffy dungeon at lightning speed – the strong-smelling fumes from the potions had made him light-headed.

"What an idiot!" Sandy exclaimed to moment they were out of earshot of the Potions classroom. "I cannot believe anybody would let that – that _hag_ teach, she's bloody mental, she is!"

Al groaned as an answer. He supposed that he agreed with Sandy, but he didn't feel like admitting it. In fact, he didn't feel like discussing Bright at all. For some reason, the thought of her made him feel slightly ashamed.

"You know what, mate?" said a voice coming from Al's left. He turned around to see Scorpius Malfoy, who was ascending the stone steps leading to the Entrance Hall with a fellow Slytherin, Logan Pucey.

"That Bright woman is _electric_. Feisty. I'd certainly show her a good time, wouldn't you, Pucey?"

Sandy mimicked violently vomiting on the floor.

**AN : So there you have it! The first part to a story I hope you will enjoy. Again, this is just an introduction, a prologue of sorts. Reviews are definitely appreciated. **


	2. The Dream

**Chapter 2: The Dream**

**Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I am far from being J.K. Rowling. This world belongs to her.**

Everything around Rose was dark, very dark – impenetrably dark. The darkness surrounded her like a suffocating veil, pressing so hard against her face it was hard to breathe. Perhaps, she thought, it was fear that was making her breathing so difficult – but was she even afraid? She wasn't sure if she had reason to be.

Rose peeled her eyes, trying to distinguish something in the unnerving blackness. She felt claustrophobic.

Nothing could be seen. For a moment, Rose faught, trying to stop herself from crossing the threshold of panic. _Think_, she told herself. _You have other senses_.

Touch. All she could feel was the cold floor she was sitting on. She caressed it with her right hand – it was a stone floor, slightly dusty, as if it hadn't been sweeped in a while. This didn't help her much – most of the floors at Hogwarts were stone. She could be basically anywhere in the castle. Unless she wasn't in the castle at all.

Rose shuddered at the thought.

Hearing. Rose closed her eyes, even though she knew this did nothing to improve her hearing. She held her breath; it had sounded so loud against the oppressive silence. She listened intently. For an infinitesimal second, she tought she heard nothing – but then, out of the silence, came a sound. A breath. Someone, somewhere in this room, was breathing. She wasn't alone.

Rose figured she should have been scared, but somehow she wasn't. It was comforting to think that wherever she was, whatever was about to happen to her, she had someone with her. Never before had she appreciated company this much.

But who could this person be? Rose racked her memory, searched every corner of her brain, but she had no inkling of who might be trapped here with her. In fact, as she thought, she began to realise she remembered nothing at all – not how she had gotten here, not where she had been before, not who she had been with before, and not even, most unnervingly, who her friends were. She couldn't name a single one of them – faces swam in her mind, ghostly and indistinct, none clear enough for her to recognise.

She _could _call out. It was a possibility. But somehow, the thought of speaking, of sending her voice to cut through the silence like a knife – it frightened her. She didn't want to speak. She didn't want to be heard. If moments before Rose had been reassured by the presence of her unknown companion, now she was afraid. It could be anyone.

"Rose?"

Rose stopped breathing. The person, whoever it was, knew her name. There was something familiar about that voice, but it wasn't altogether reassuring.

Should she answer? She couldn't find any rational reason why she shouldn't, but fear paralyzed her. She didn't want to be detected.

Light. The room, if that was what it was, was suddenly filled with blazing, blinding light. It was such a shock to Rose's eyes that she didn't even manage to get a proper look at her surroundings before a voice, another voice, much deeper and more menacing than the first, rang through the room.

"_Crucio_."

Pain. All Rose could feel was pain. Intense, atrocious, unbearable pain. It was like millions of tiny little knives were stabbing her body at once – like she was being burned alive – like someone was using a white-hot sword to carve horrific designs into her abdomen, her legs, her back, her heart. She wanted it to stop, no matter what it took, even if it meant death. She was certain death was nothing compared to this.

All at once, the pain stopped. Somehow, the floor wasn't cold stone anymore. It was soft and cozy, warm, comfortable. Rose's eyes flew open. She saw curtains.

Rose took a slow, deep, calming breath, using a technique her mother had taught her to calm herself before exams. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs at a trillion miles per hour. She'd had this dream before – three times in the last week, in fact.

That was enough. Despite her breathing exercises, Rose was terrified – there was no way she could go back to sleep now. What she needed was to _talk _– to tell someone about her dream and be comforted, held, and to be told not to be silly, that it was just a dream. She wanted her parents – there was no better remedy against fear than being hugged in her Dad's big, strong arms, and her oh-so-rational mother would know exactly what to say to make Rose's worries go away.

But Rose couldn't have her parents right now. They were far. She was at Hogwarts. Who could she go to, within Hogwarts? Her dorm-mates were out of the question. She liked them most of the time, especially Catherine Newberry, but she wasn't exactly close enough to any of them to confide in them like that.

Her thoughts went straight to Al. His hugs might not be as strong and comforting as her father's, but there was no one in this school she trusted more than him. She felt merely his presence would be enough to calm her down, with his quiet, soothing voice. He had a no-nonsense way of looking at things. He would tell her not be stupid, it's just a dream, go back to bed. But he would also give her a long hug and ruffle her messy hair.

For a second, Rose had half-way made up her mind to go find Al, when she remembered – she couldn't just go barging in to Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night. Firstly, even getting there without being detected would be a feat – but once she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, how was she supposed to get in? In the past, she'd sometimes heard Al or Sandy saying the password, but she hadn't heard either of them mention it at all since school started. It could be anything. There was no way she could guess.

That ruled out Al. The next person she would have gone to was Sandy, whose suffocating hugs were a bit like Dad-hugs, and who would have known precisely what to say to put a smile on her face, but she too was a Gryffindor, so that automatically ruled her out too. She needed a Ravenclaw.

There was only one option. Troy. Rose had known in the back of her mind it would come to this all along, but the idea didn't please her. It was nothing against Troy – he was great. Of all her friends, he was the tallest and strongest, and his hugs did feel very much like her father's. He had a deep, manly voice, which would also remind her of her father. And he was the best listener she could ask for. No, he wasn't the problem. His dorm-mates were the problem.

The only other time she'd gone to visit Troy in his dormitory at the middle of the night, she'd been sleepwalking. It didn't happen to her often, but it had happened last year, and she'd never heard the end of it. Apparently, she'd walked right in to the boys' dormitory and had curled up next to Troy, who hadn't woken. His dorm-mates had decided not to wake them, and had let them sleep like that until the morning. Things had been unbearably awkward between her and Troy for a good month.

Ever since that episode, the boys who shared Troy's dormitory were convinced there was something going on between he and Rose, despite the concerned two's vehement protests. If Rose heard suggestive comments about Troy's genitalia one more time, she thought she might retch.

Rose spent a few moments to weigh the pros and cons of going to see Troy. On the positive side, he would definitely be able to soothe her, and she was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep at all for the rest of the night if she didn't see someone. On the other hand, she was risking an all-new outbreak of rumors about her and Troy. She wasn't sure she could handle the teasing and taunting.

She'd almost made up her mind to stay in bed when the longing for a parent became so unbearable, she couldn't imagine staying alone a second longer. She felt like a child, crying for her parents after a nightmare – but that was what she was, wasn't it? At fourteen, she was still something of a child. She'd just had a nightmare, and she wanted her parents. With a pang, she realised she was even crying – a lone tear was sliding down her cheek. She needed someone.

In minutes Rose found herself standing in a dressing gown in front of Troy's dormitory door, her fist poised to knock. The walk from her dorm to his had somewhat cooled her head, but she still wanted to see Troy.

Seconds passed. Rose stared at the brass sign adorning the door – _fourth years_. She took a deep breath, the kind her mother taught her, and knocked.

There was no answer. Rose knocked again, harder and more insistently. She wasn't enough of a fool to just barge in, like the time she'd been sleepwalking. There was no way she was entering that dorm.

There was still no answer. Rose decided to knock one more time; she would go back to bed if that last knock remained unanswered.

She knocked. For a second she heard nothing, but moments later her heard shuffling – she deduced it was the sound of someone getting out of bed. The person's footsteps were slow and heavy. They were unmistakeably Troy's.

The dormitory door opened, and there stood Troy Fletcher, dressed in plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt, his sandy blond hair ruffled and messy. He squinted down at her, obviously confused.

"Whad'ya want?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes as though he wasn't sure he was awake.

"To talk," Rose answered quietly. She realised she was fighting back tears. "Please come down with me."

Rose's distraught tone must have struck Troy, because he suddenly seemed much more alert. He surveyed Rose silently, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. "Sure," he replied after a few seconds. "Wait a sec."

He disappeared from Rose's view for a moment, and came back wearing a sweater over his t-shirt. He gave Rose a gentle push in the shoulder, indicating her to lead the way. She descended the spiral staircase which led to the Common Room, and chose to sit in her favorite squashy armchair, right next to one of the high, arched windows. The Common Room was bathed in moonlight – it was so well illuminated that it was unnecessary to light one of the torches on the wall. Rose lit one anyway, for she found torchlight more reassuring than moonlight.

Troy sat across from her, but then seemed to change his mind and chose the chair right beside hers. He placed a large hand on her shoulder.

"What is it?" he whispered. He sounded genuinely concerned.

Rose took another of her long, relaxing breaths. She wanted to make sure she wouldn't cry. She hated crying – it made her stomach feel hollow and empty, and her nose always ran so copiously she constantly needed to change tissues.

"You know that dream I told you about at breakfast this morning?" she said, not looking at Troy. Her voice was steady.

"The one where you're in the dark room?" Troy asked. He was leaning forward, trying to catch Rose's eye. Rose avoided his gaze. She was embarrassed to cause all this fuss over a simple dream.

"Well, I had that same dream again," she murmured. "Third time this week. But it went further, this time. I was trapped in that room, and there was nothing I could do, you know – but then someone said my name."

"Who?" It surprised her how seriously Troy took this.

"I don't know," Rose answered. "But then someone else came in – they opened a door – and they, they – "

She struggled for a second to stay collected. "They used the Cruciatus curse on me."

Troy inhaled sharply. "They _what_?" he repeated, alarmed.

"They tortured me. But you see, Troy, the thing is…" Rose bit back tears. "I know it was just a dream, but it actually _hurt_. It really, really hurt. I've never felt anything like it."

She finally turned her head to look at Troy. His eyes were wide. He seemed to be thinking of what to say.

"I don't understand," he said after pondering for a few moments. "How can you feel something that intense in a dream?"

"I don't know," Rose answered, and she was ashamed to hear that her voice was no longer steady. "I – I don't think it was a normal dream, Troy…"

She hid her face in her hands, pressing her palms against her eyeballs as though she was forcing the tears back in. She suddenly felt herself being encircled by a pair of big, strong arms. Dad arms. She smiled into her hands.

"I'm being silly, I know," she chuckled, lifting her face to rest it against Troy's shoulder. He'd stood from his seat and was kneeling next to hers. "I should go back to bed, and just forget about it."

Troy said nothing for a few moments.

"I don't think you're being silly," he said finally. "But you're right. You should go back to bed, Rosie, and just sleep. It's late. When you think about this in the morning, you'll have gained a little perspective."

He let go of her, and patted her on the back in a brotherly sort of way. Rose beamed at him.

**AN: Just to reassure those of you who don't particularly like OCs (I'm one of those people): This story will **_**not **_**be taken over by OCs. The last two chapters contained rather a lot of Troy and Sandy, I know, but in the grand scheme of things they're really just supporting characters. There are plenty of canon characters who I've haven't introduced yet, and who will have bigger parts in the story than the OCs. So, basically, don't worry. And of course, reviews are always appreciated! **


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